creature for life!
‘No one thinks any the less of your sex for it, Lady Caroline,’ he explained patiently. ‘It is the way of nature. Some deeds are simply impossible for a lady to undertake – and believe me, I would not have it any other way.’
CHAPTER TWO
Viscount Randall, enveloped in a thick, many-caped greatcoat and holding the reins in a slack grasp, his dark head slumped to one side, seemed for all the world like a man asleep as his new racing curricle – the envy of London’s keenest whipsters – dashed out of London on the newly-improved Deptford road. It was a breakneck pace, and although a lantern swung beside him, it remained unlit, his swift-moving greys guided only by the light of a full moon.
A few miles south of the river, an odd wailing noise brought his lordship upright in an instant, slowing the horses. Instinctively, Trajan felt for the flintlock pistol he kept beneath the seat in case of attacks by highwaymen. But his hand came away empty.
He cursed, recalling that the pistol was away at the gunsmiths. Nor was he carrying any weapons himself - not even a dress sword. Such precautions had seemed unnecessary on this short trip down to his mother’s estate in Kent.
The eerie wail came again. Then a ghostly white shape darted out from the trees at the roadside.
Some crazed woman, casting herself before the horses!
The animals reared up in a panic. Not entirely unspooked himself by this apparition, but too busy dealing with the matter in hand to act the idiot, Trajan leant back and hauled on the reins, calling out to the pair in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
‘Wooa there, Pepper! Come now, Salt!’
As soon as the pair of high-strung greys had jerked to an unsteady and reluctant halt, Trajan jumped down from the carriage to investigate what had frightened them.
Sure enough, a heavily-built woman in a white gown lay prostrate on the road before him, her head wrapped in a thick veil.
Trajan hesitated, remaining at the horses’ heads for a moment. He glanced cautiously about himself in the darkness. It was a common enough trick, to send a woman out in front of the horses to stop a passing coach, after which the rest of the gang would descend, to rob the unwary inhabitants of their possessions. But the road seemed quiet in both directions; there was no one else in sight.
A groan issued from the woman’s lips.
Trajan frowned, looping the reins around the nearest tree branch. He knelt beside the fallen woman. ‘Madam, can you tell me what has happened?’ he asked gently. ‘Were you attacked? Are you hurt?’
The loud click of a trigger being drawn back next to his ear made Trajan tense, then turn his head warily in its direction.
Furious at his own idiocy, Trajan found himself staring down the barrel of a very menacing pistol. Behind it, equally menacing, stood a shortish man in black, muffled and hooded, his voice gruff but unyielding.
‘Hands up, m’lord! And no nonsense, or you’ll regret it.’
‘I’ve nothing of value on me,’ he began angrily, then fell silent as the cold muzzle of the pistol made contact with his forehead. ‘All right, no nonsense. What is it you want, fellow?’
‘I want you to stand up. Slowly! Slowly! Now, take off that cape. Throw it aside and put your hands behind your back. That’s it.’
The man gestured impatiently at the woman, who had knelt up and was already engaged in securing Trajan’s hands behind his back with a length of rope.
‘Tie him securely and check for weapons. Don’t forget his boots!’
The woman came shuffling round, bent over, her hands slapping at his calves and thighs in a distinctly business-like fashion. Trajan realised with a shock that this was no woman. It was in fact a stocky man in a gown, his face partially concealed
‘No one thinks any the less of your sex for it, Lady Caroline,’ he explained patiently. ‘It is the way of nature. Some deeds are simply impossible for a lady to undertake – and believe me, I would not have it any other way.’
CHAPTER TWO
Viscount Randall, enveloped in a thick, many-caped greatcoat and holding the reins in a slack grasp, his dark head slumped to one side, seemed for all the world like a man asleep as his new racing curricle – the envy of London’s keenest whipsters – dashed out of London on the newly-improved Deptford road. It was a breakneck pace, and although a lantern swung beside him, it remained unlit, his swift-moving greys guided only by the light of a full moon.
A few miles south of the river, an odd wailing noise brought his lordship upright in an instant, slowing the horses. Instinctively, Trajan felt for the flintlock pistol he kept beneath the seat in case of attacks by highwaymen. But his hand came away empty.
He cursed, recalling that the pistol was away at the gunsmiths. Nor was he carrying any weapons himself - not even a dress sword. Such precautions had seemed unnecessary on this short trip down to his mother’s estate in Kent.
The eerie wail came again. Then a ghostly white shape darted out from the trees at the roadside.
Some crazed woman, casting herself before the horses!
The animals reared up in a panic. Not entirely unspooked himself by this apparition, but too busy dealing with the matter in hand to act the idiot, Trajan leant back and hauled on the reins, calling out to the pair in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
‘Wooa there, Pepper! Come now, Salt!’
As soon as the pair of high-strung greys had jerked to an unsteady and reluctant halt, Trajan jumped down from the carriage to investigate what had frightened them.
Sure enough, a heavily-built woman in a white gown lay prostrate on the road before him, her head wrapped in a thick veil.
Trajan hesitated, remaining at the horses’ heads for a moment. He glanced cautiously about himself in the darkness. It was a common enough trick, to send a woman out in front of the horses to stop a passing coach, after which the rest of the gang would descend, to rob the unwary inhabitants of their possessions. But the road seemed quiet in both directions; there was no one else in sight.
A groan issued from the woman’s lips.
Trajan frowned, looping the reins around the nearest tree branch. He knelt beside the fallen woman. ‘Madam, can you tell me what has happened?’ he asked gently. ‘Were you attacked? Are you hurt?’
The loud click of a trigger being drawn back next to his ear made Trajan tense, then turn his head warily in its direction.
Furious at his own idiocy, Trajan found himself staring down the barrel of a very menacing pistol. Behind it, equally menacing, stood a shortish man in black, muffled and hooded, his voice gruff but unyielding.
‘Hands up, m’lord! And no nonsense, or you’ll regret it.’
‘I’ve nothing of value on me,’ he began angrily, then fell silent as the cold muzzle of the pistol made contact with his forehead. ‘All right, no nonsense. What is it you want, fellow?’
‘I want you to stand up. Slowly! Slowly! Now, take off that cape. Throw it aside and put your hands behind your back. That’s it.’
The man gestured impatiently at the woman, who had knelt up and was already engaged in securing Trajan’s hands behind his back with a length of rope.
‘Tie him securely and check for weapons. Don’t forget his boots!’
The woman came shuffling round, bent over, her hands slapping at his calves and thighs in a distinctly business-like fashion. Trajan realised with a shock that this was no woman. It was in fact a stocky man in a gown, his face partially concealed
Similar Books
